


Hail Mary

by PixelByPixel



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Boxing & Fisticuffs, Canon-Typical Poor Life Choices, Confession, Dramatic Irony, Gen, Matt Murdock: Baby Lawyer, Museums, Penance - Freeform, So Much Penance, Young Matt Murdock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23602885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelByPixel/pseuds/PixelByPixel
Summary: Young Matt struggles with school and with life in general, has his first real fight, and makes an unexpected friend.(It wasn't that Matttriedto get the record for the most Hail Marys.)
Relationships: Father Lantom & Matt Murdock, Margaret Murdock & Matt Murdock, Matt Murdock & Original Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 65
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Daredevil Bingo





	Hail Mary

**Author's Note:**

> This fills my Bad Things Happen Bingo square for _Don't you dare pity me_ and my Daredevil Bingo square for _Fight Like Hell_. [Bingo squares here!](https://pixelbypixelfanfic.tumblr.com/bingo)
> 
> As always, many thanks to [titC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/) for betaing in these unprecedented times. <3

It wasn’t that Matt _tried_ to get the record for most Hail Marys.

Well, not right at first, at least. In the beginning, it just kind of happened. Adjusting to life at the orphanage - life without his father, his _family_ \- was hard, and he just kept… messing up. The thing was, he wasn’t sorry. He was sad, sure, and angry. But he definitely wasn’t sorry.

He heard the rumors, after all. The first time, it was in the schoolyard.

Billy Randall. He could still remember what Billy looked like, with his stupid thin face and his ugly blue eyes. He’d been an asshole before Matt had lost his sight and that definitely hadn’t changed.

“My dad said your dad was so stupid, he didn’t even know how to throw a fight.”

That was what Billy Randall said, and that was why Matt punched him.

He didn’t have to fake feeling around for him or anything; Billy got all up in his face and said what he said, and Matt just… hit him.

It felt _amazing_ and Matt thought, _Maybe this is why Dad loved fighting._

Because he knew boxing hadn’t just been a job for Jack Murdock. He’d loved it. And Matt… maybe he did, too.

They had to pull him off Billy, but not before Matt broke Billy’s nose and busted up his lip. He had Billy Randall’s blood all over his aching fists, and he just. Didn’t. Care. Billy hadn’t managed to lay a hand on him. He said that he hadn’t wanted to hit a blind kid, but Matt knew: he couldn’t.

Sitting on the bench outside the principal’s office, he could hear the hushed voices of the principal and the school counselor and Billy’s dad. They said _lost his father_ and _blinded in an accident_ and _orphanage boy_.

Billy’s dad stopped talking about the hospital bills. They were Good Catholics, or so they wanted to believe, and Matt figured they wouldn’t want to take money from the Church.

Matt could feel Billy’s dad’s pity as they left. He turned away. Just as they reached the school’s entrance, Matt called, his voice hard, “I know what you said about my father. You’re an asshole, just like Billy.” He stayed on the bench, though. While he wouldn’t mind hitting Billy again, maybe it wasn’t the right time.

It sounded like Billy tried to come after him, but Billy’s dad held him back, muttering, “What the fuck are you doing, picking on a blind kid?”

The door closed behind them and Matt thought, _More like getting beat up by a blind kid._

_Blind kid._

_Orphanage boy._

That was how they all saw him: some poor blind boy who didn’t have a dad anymore, who’d never had a mom.

Dad had always said that he’d tell Matt about his mother when he was older, when he could understand better. The way Matt had figured it, his mom had taken off when he was a baby, and it hadn’t really mattered to him most of the time. He’d had his dad; that was all he’d needed, not some mom who didn’t care about him. That’s what he’d told himself, at least.

But he didn’t have his dad anymore, and even a mom who didn’t care would probably be better than living in an orphanage. At least he could get away from all the nuns. He couldn’t see them, but he could tell they were creepy. Well, most of them. Sister Connie was nice.

So he just sat on the bench outside the principal’s office and waited. Everybody at the orphanage had been busy, he guessed, but eventually, somebody showed up. The secretary or whoever said, “Right this way,” but Matt wasn’t sure who it was. He’d been hoping for Father Lantom, but not with those shoes. So it was a nun. _Please, please, please let it be Sister Connie,_ he thought, though he probably wouldn’t be that lucky.

He was a Murdock, after all.

He couldn’t tell most of the nuns by their footsteps yet. Sister Bernadette was older and moved more slowly, so this briskly-walking nun was definitely not her. Plus, Sister Bernadette had that awful rose perfume. She’d hugged Matt after mass one week and he’d thought he was going to die from the smell.

Whoever she was, she was in the office for what felt like forever. Matt could hear the second hand of the clock above his head and it sounded like thunder.

Matt tried to hear what was happening in the principal’s office, but the fact of the matter was that the ticking clock was all he could focus on, not the rather important conversation between Principal Jenkins and Sister Whoever.

It sucked. He could hear things, _sense_ things that other people couldn’t, but he couldn’t always control what he heard. Like, he could have gone his whole life without hearing what had gone on in the older boys’ room when everybody was supposed to be outside. For _real_.

Finally, he heard the creak of the door and the clacking of Sister Whoever’s heels. She didn’t say goodbye or anything, so he still didn’t know who she was. Finally, she sat down next to him and sighed, and Matt knew.

Shit.

Sister Maggie.

She’d been kind of nice right when he’d first gotten to the orphanage. He’d had those nightmares and she’d come when he called, every night… until she didn’t. His mind had turned over every reason why she hadn’t come. He was too much trouble. She didn’t like him. She thought he should stop being such a baby.

He was bad.

The next night, the dreams had been worse than ever, but Matt hadn’t called out for Sister Maggie when he woke up, his sheets twisted around him, his body damp with sweat. He’d just swallowed his tears; he’d imagined shoving them in a box, slamming the lid closed.

He didn’t need anybody.

But when Sister Maggie sighed, he felt his stomach tighten a little with nerves.

He’d hit Billy. A lot.

He was probably in trouble.

“Matthew,” Sister Maggie said finally. “What are we going to do with you?”

Matt tried to think of the right answer. “Ice cream?” It was worth a shot; Matt really liked ice cream.

Sister Maggie coughed, but it was a suspicious kind of cough, almost like a laugh. Did nuns even have a sense of humor? “No.”

An idea occurred to him. “I definitely shouldn’t go to the museum with everybody on Saturday,” he said, trying to sound resigned but maybe not succeeding.

“No,” Sister Maggie said, with another of those coughs. “The museum will be educational.”

Matt sighed. Fat lot of good it would do him. He had liked museums, on those rare times before the accident that he had gone. Now he was sure nobody would take the time to tell him what they were seeing, and the weird senses told him where things were but not really what they looked like.

Matt tipped his head. He could hear the principal - now, when it didn’t matter - and it sounded like he was writing something: he muttered a few words, and then there was a pen-scratching sound.

“Did I get suspended?”

“Yes. Three days. I’m sure we’ll find plenty for you to do around the orphanage.”

Matt sighed. _Great._ “Did Billy?”

“No. Should he have? Did he start it?”

Matt frowned a little. Technically, no, but Matt didn’t feel like he was entirely in the wrong. “He said… things.”

“Did he call you names?” Matt didn’t answer and Sister Maggie said, after a moment, “You have to be the better person.”

“Why? I mean, it’s not like it’s that hard, being a better person than Billy Randall, but why should I?”

“Matthew,” Sister Maggie chided.

Matt really wanted to know, and his name definitely wasn’t an answer.

“No, really,” he persisted.

“God wants you to,” Sister Maggie said finally, but that felt like a cop-out. “What did Billy call you?”

“Nothing.”

He could feel Sister Maggie’s confusion. She exhaled a puzzled sound, then asked, “Then why did you hit him?”

“He said -” Matt’s throat ached and his eyes prickled in a way he didn’t like. He was _not_ going to cry, not at school. People would see, and then they’d add _crybaby_ to the list of things to call him. “- stuff about my dad.”

“… oh,” Sister Maggie replied, and Matt felt a bit of hope at the sympathy he heard in that one syllable. “Matthew, your father, he -” She cleared her throat. “I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted you to fight in school.”

Well, no. Dad had wanted him to use his brain, not his fists. But it wasn’t like that was any of Sister Maggie’s business. “How would you know?” he demanded. “You didn’t know my dad, what he wanted for me. It doesn’t matter, anyway,” he added, hating how his voice broke on the last word. “He’s gone.”

Sister Maggie drew in a deep breath, and Matt heard a little hitch at the end. “It does matter,” she replied, her voice gone sharp. “Matthew, you are in an unenviable position.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Matt said, quietly bitter.

“You have to live up to your father’s expectations of you, and those expectations are never going to change. He’s always going to believe you can do anything you want to, so now you must.”

“What? How do you know what my dad thought?” Matt’s voice had softened a little; he was curious, despite himself.

“Matthew, all of Hell’s Kitchen heard how Jack Murdock’s brilliant boy was destined for greatness,” Sister Maggie said, and it sounded like she was serious, not being all snarky the way she sometimes could, especially before she’d had her coffee. “He’d tell anyone who listened - and plenty who didn’t listen - how smart you were, how you could be president if you wanted, but that you had enough sense not to want it.”

“Duh,” Matt murmured, but he smiled a little. Dad had always told Matt how proud he was of him, but it was nice to know he’d told other people, too. “I wouldn’t want to be president. I want to help people. Here.” He tapped the bench he was sitting on and got briefly lost in the sensation the vibrations sparked before adding, “Not _here_ -here. Not the school.” He didn’t want to be a teacher. Kids were the worst. “The Kitchen.”

“Really.” Sister Maggie’s tone was bland and neutral, but her heartbeat had thumped faster just for a moment. “Why?”

Matt shrugged. “Dad loved it here. Said it was the best place to live in the whole world, but that it was up to the people who lived here to make it better.”

“Huh.” It was just an exhalation, but Matt felt like maybe Sister Maggie understood. She was a nun. They were supposed to help people. That was the idea, anyway.

Matt didn’t want to be a priest, though. He’d thought about it when he was younger, before his grandmother died, but it didn’t feel right. Matt could do more.

“Well,” Sister Maggie said. “I think your father was right. So how about you do your part to make things better by not getting into fights at school. Okay? Matthew?”

But the sister’s words had faded from Matt’s focus and the hum of the overhead lights had taken over, the noise blurring and then intensifying to a shriek. Stupid senses. Sometimes it was great, but sometimes it _really_ wasn't, and Matt could never tell what kind of a day it would be. He instinctively clapped his hands over his ears, even though he had learned that wouldn’t help. He wasn’t sure how long it lasted; when the wail of the lights had faded, Sister Maggie crouched before him, and her heart rate had picked up.

“’m okay,” Matt mumbled. “’m fine.” He eased his hands away from his ears.

“That… wasn’t just you not wanting to hear what I had to say, was it?”

Matt wasn’t sure what to say. If he disagreed with her, well, he’d be lying, and lying to a nun was extra sinful. But if he said it was something else, she’d want to know what, and he wouldn’t be able to explain it.

Or he would, and she’d think there was something _else_ wrong with him. He didn't know why he had these extra senses, but he knew nobody else did.

So Matt just kept his mouth shut. If he didn’t say anything, she couldn’t take it the wrong way.

Or maybe she could, because she sighed. “Let’s go home.”

Matt felt his mouth tighten and his jaw jut with the effort of not saying, _It’s not home._ He just got to his feet and waited for Sister Maggie to move.

“Where’s your cane?”

He’d thrown it back when Billy had started up. Figured it would be easier to fight without it. But now he felt a twinge of guilt. It was probably expensive. “Um. Maybe the playground.”

She sighed a little, but just said, “We can look for it on our way through.” She paused, and Matt could all but hear her regretting her words. “I can, I mean.”

Matt just nodded. He’d noticed how many things people said had to do with sight. _See you later,_ that sort of thing. It didn’t bother him.

Sister Maggie added, her tone a little awkward, “Do you need…?”

What, to hang on to her? Matt rebelled at the thought; he didn’t need help. He could tell where things were better than anybody. He could even sense stuff that was behind him; nobody else could do that. But he just said, “I’m okay,” and shuffled along next to her.

“There it is,” she said when they reached a spot near where the fight had happened. Matt wondered if there was blood on the grass. He could smell some, but he wasn’t sure if that was just Billy’s blood on his hands.

It itched and he suddenly wanted soap and water, so he could rid himself of the feel of the blood. When Sister Maggie pressed the cane into his hands, he startled; the thought of the blood getting on his cane felt wrong.

But he didn’t want to explain that, so he just scrubbed his hands against his pants and then unfolded the cane.

Hitting Billy… that had felt good, though Matt was a little ashamed now at how much he’d enjoyed it. He’d have to confess it, and he knew what Father Lantom would do: he’d be quiet for a moment, and then he’d sigh. Maybe he’d ask a question or two, but he’d give Matt penance.

It wouldn’t make Matt regret the fight, but the penance might make him feel better about it. He knew hitting people was wrong, after all. He just felt like it had been the right thing to do - even though it was wrong.

He was kind of confusing himself and his brain just spun around in circles.

“You’re quiet,” Sister Maggie observed. Matt didn’t say anything, and she added, “Not that this is new. Seems like you have two settings, kiddo: silent or arguing.”

Matt pondered that. Yeah, that was probably true. Lately, he tended not to say a lot unless what he had to say felt important. Not feeling like he had anything particularly important to contribute to the conversation, he just nodded and listened to the echoes from his cane, sussing out where everything was.

“You may want to see if you can find a happy medium, huh?”

Matt shrugged. “I don’t want to talk a lot.”

“I don’t think we’re in any danger of that,” Sister Maggie said, her voice taking on that before-morning-coffee tone.

“And when I do talk,” Matt added, with a little smile, “people listen. Right?”

Because they did. Even the other kids at the orphanage had figured out that Matt Murdock only talked when he had something to say.

Sister Maggie clicked her tongue as they walked up the steps to the orphanage. “Go and clean up,” she directed him. “And then come back down here.”

Matt nodded as he headed for the stairs, though his head tipped as he heard footsteps approaching.

“Is he all right?” Sister Connie sounded concerned, but Sister Maggie made a sound, not quite a laugh.

“Not a scratch on him.”

“Well,” Sister Connie replied, “he’s his father’s son.” Her tone was a little odd as she spoke.

Sister Maggie only hummed in agreement, and then she must have seen Matt lingering on the stairs, as said, her voice sharp, “Upstairs, Matthew.”

Matt obeyed. He was glad to wash his hands, to clean the dirt from his face.

But none of the blood was his. That mattered. There had been so many nights when his father had come home from the fights covered in blood; some nights, he’d grinned and said, “It’s the other guy’s, Matty.”

Matt had never been sure whether or not to believe him.

There had, after all, been more than one night when Dad had shaken his head and said the other guy had gotten the best of him. So maybe he’d told the truth about the blood belonging to the other guy.

Matt stepped into the bathroom and turned on the water, letting it get so hot that he felt the steam rise. He rinsed his hands, finding a little penance a little in the water’s heat, nearly burning, then turned off the water as he scrubbed his hands until he couldn’t feel Billy’s blood anymore. He rinsed his hands, then pulled off his glasses and splashed water on his face. He felt the water roll down his collar as he groped for a towel and then mopped at his face.

He felt better, somehow. Just the act of washing up had settled him a little. He took a deep breath and let it out.

He’d won the fight. Billy hadn’t been able to touch him. But if he had, if he’d knocked Matt down, Matt would have gotten back up.

He was a Murdock, after all.

“Matthew!”

Sister Maggie’s voice could cut through any sound, Matt guessed, though it sounded like she wasn’t even trying to be loud.

He pondered what could be awaiting him. Chores. Probably unpleasant ones, knowing Sister Maggie.

She hadn’t seemed angry about the fight, though, so maybe not.

Whatever it was, he might as well get it over with. After all, even if she hadn’t been mad, she had to make an example of him. She wouldn’t want the other kids to think it was okay to fight.

It had felt okay, though - more than okay - so Matt smiled as he went downstairs to meet his doom.

* * *

Of course, confession was inevitable. He knew Father Lantom must have heard what had happened, but Matt still had to tell him about it. When Matt related his sins, he heard a quiet sigh from Father Lantom before he received his penance. “Will you strive to do better?” Father Lantom asked as Matt got to his feet.

Matt considered his answer. Lying was a sin, lying to a priest was extra bad, and lying in a confessional was pretty much the worst. Still, he knew what Father Lantom wanted him to say, so he replied, “Yes, Father.”

He would do better, he assured himself as he stepped out of the confessional. If Billy Randall - or anybody else - ever said anything about his dad, Matt would hit them harder and end the fight sooner. That would be better.

Joey Petrecca waited outside the confessional; Matt had heard him chewing his gum even while he’d been relating his sins to Father Lantom. “What’d you get?” Joey asked. He wasn’t too bad. Not _nice_ , but he usually didn’t go out of his way to be a jerk like some of them, so Matt told him the penance. Joey let out a low whistle. “You keep this up, Murdock, you’re going to beat the record.”

“Record?”

“Yeah, for most Hail Marys. Angela Estevez got it last year.”

Matt had to smile a little at that. “What’s the record?” Joey told him. It was a lot. “What happens if you break it?”

“Me? I’m not gonna break it. I’m a Good Catholic Boy.” Joey’s smirk was audible.

Matt laughed like he knew he was supposed to, even though he kind of felt like he _was_ a Good Catholic Boy. Mostly. If Good Catholic Boys could hit people. Joey added, “I don’t know. But I’ll bet you could find out, with as many as you got today. They’re always saying how we should have goals, right?”

“Goals,” Matt agreed as he made his way to the nearest pew. He sat and pulled down the kneeler.

“Are you actually going to say all those Hail Marys?” Joey asked, laughing a little.

Matt shrugged as he knelt. “Doesn’t count if you don’t say ’em.” He closed his eyes and began, “Ave Maria, gratia plena…”

Joey scoffed as he turned to go. “Latin. Figures.”

Matt just shrugged and continued his penance.

* * *

During the days Matt was suspended from school, Sister Maggie kept him busy with chores she had no doubt chosen for maximum unpleasantness. By the time Saturday arrived, he was sick enough of chores and of the orphanage that he was even ready to be bored in a museum. The orphanage had gotten a bus from somewhere and Matt slid into a back seat next to Richie Molloy. He’d rather sit alone but he knew there wouldn’t be room, and Richie was the best of the lot.

Not long after Matt took his seat, rose perfume enveloped the bus. Richie shifted in place, then whispered, “Sister Bernadette just got on.” He was good about that sort of thing, narrating when something happened. 

“She’s probably older than all the stuff in the museum,” Joey said, eliciting snickers from the kids around him.

“That’s enough,” Sister Maggie chided, her voice crisp. “Now you know I expect you all to be on your best behavior at the museum, yes?”

“Yes, Sister Maggie,” the kids mumbled.

Matt took note of the fact that they had just agreed that they knew Sister Maggie’s expectations, not that they were actually going to behave, and smiled. He leaned against the window as the bus started, trying to breathe through his mouth as a defense against the rose perfume, but it didn’t help. He could _taste_ the perfume then, which made it even worse, so he just tried to think about something else.

He hadn’t really gone to museums much, even though the city had a lot of them. His dad had always been too busy, and of course, money was always a factor. Rarely, there were times when the stars aligned and a museum free day landed at a time that his dad could take him, and that had been fun. Dad had always said he didn’t get museum stuff, but that he wanted Matt to understand it all.

So Matt knew he really should be taking advantage of the trip - his dad would have wanted that - but he had a pretty good idea of how equipped the museum would be to deal with a blind kid. He wasn’t enthusiastic, but he shuffled after Richie when the bus stopped.

“Best behavior,” Sister Maggie urged, and Matt thought that even the best behavior from some of these kids would still be pretty awful. They all filed into the building and Matt gave his cane an extra-hard tap, enjoying the echoes. The entryway was pretty tall; he could make out that things were in the room, but not much beyond the vague shape of them. Fairly quickly, the chatter of the other kids made it hard to distinguish anything. Sister Maggie introduced somebody, probably a guide, and Matt tuned out pretty quickly.

The rose smell intensified as the group started into the museum and Sister Bernadette said, “You’ll be with me, Matthew. Do you want to take my arm?”

“What? Sister, I don’t need a babysitter. Just because I got in trouble at school, that doesn’t mean…”

“You misunderstand,” Sister Bernadette said, her voice gentle. “We’re going to another part of the museum.”

Away from the other kids? Matt would even put up with the rose perfume to get away from them. “Oh. Okay. Uh, yeah. Thanks.” He reached out and found Sister Bernadette’s arm waiting for him. He didn’t want to grab on too hard. Hurting a nun, even unintentionally, was definitely a sin; Sister Bernadette had tiny little arms that made Matt think of birds’ wings.

Sister Bernadette rambled on a little as they walked, and Matt appreciated the point she was making: that she wanted him to enjoy the museum, too. He just wasn’t sure how she, specifically, was going to make that happen.

They went into a smaller area of the museum and then a door opened and footsteps approached: men’s shoes, but nice. “Bernie! It’s so good to see you.” He sounded about as old as Sister Bernadette and smelled a little of pipe tobacco, which did not combine well with the rose perfume.

 _Bernie?_ Matt did not let his jaw drop, but the sentiment remained.

“Francis, it’s been too long. Matthew, this is my brother Francis. Francis, this is Matthew, the boy I told you about.”

Matt turned over in his head the thought that Sister Bernadette had a brother (who called her _Bernie_ ), that any of the nuns had had lives before they became nuns. But then Francis was saying he was pleased to meet Matt, and Matt held out his hand so the man could shake it. His hands felt old, but rough and calloused.

“So I’m going to tell you a little bit about what we do here,” Francis said. “We have some fascinating pieces on loan from the Penn Museum for our upcoming exhibit…”

And Francis led them into what Matt guessed was the staff part of the museum, chatting pleasantly with Sister Bernadette and occasionally drawing out a comment or two from Matt. They came to a stop and Francis said, “Now, Matthew, Bernie says you’re a bright boy, a serious boy, yes?” Matt, unsure what to say, nodded. “I’m going to show you some of our items, but I need you to be very careful, all right?” Curious, Matt nodded and went along with it when Francis had him wash and dry his hands and then sit at a table.

“I thought about what I might like to see as a boy, but then we had an odd childhood, didn’t we, Bernie?” Sister Bernadette laughed and murmured her agreement, and Matt pondered the existence of Sister Bernadette as a _child_. It boggled the mind. “So I didn’t want to get anything too gory, just in case, but if you’ll hold out your hand?” Matt did and felt something made of stone settle in his grip. “This is a canopic jar,” Francis began.

Matt interrupted, “A real one?”

“Oh, yes,” Sister Bernadette said. “No reproductions here.”

Matt cupped the small jar in his hand, almost afraid to touch it, and Francis assured, “Go ahead, Matthew; you’re not going to break it. I’m guessing from your reaction that you know what this is?” Matt nodded, gently brushing his fingers along the stone, feeling the curves and the outlines. Not long before the accident, he'd read the entire ancient Egypt section in the school library; he never thought he'd ever get to hold something _from_ ancient Egypt. “I wanted to show you this one in particular because Bernie found it.”

Matt was very careful not to drop the precious jar. “Bernie? Sister Bernadette?” He turned to her, startled. “ _You_ found this?”

“Of course I did. Think I’ve been a nun all my life?”

 _Yes._ “No, but… you were an archaeologist?”

“No, no. I was too young and, well. Times were what they were. No. But Francis and I helped our father when we were young, and he was an archaeologist.” Some of Matt’s amazement must have shown in his face, for she laughed a little at him.

Matt nodded and turned his focus back to the jar. “How old is it?” Sister Bernadette told him, and Matt exhaled a stunned breath, a little floored at the thought that something that old was even still around, let alone that he was holding it in his hands. “Can you tell me how you found it, Sister Bernadette?”

She did, and she and her brother between them kept Matt entertained. They shared all sorts of artifacts, including a bronze knife that Matt found particularly cool. Finally, Francis had to leave for a meeting, and he walked Matt and Sister Bernadette back to the public area of the museum.

“The others should be done soon,” Sister Bernadette said. “There’s a bench here; would you like to sit and wait for them?”

Matt nodded and the two of them sat. “So you really helped find things, _really_ old things.” The awareness that these things that Matt had held had existed thousands of years ago was really awe-inspiring.

“I did,” Sister Bernadette agreed.

“So why did you stop? Why did you become a nun?”

Sister Bernadette exhaled a soft sigh. “Well, my faith has always been strong. My hoydenish ways were tolerated while I was young, but I always knew I couldn’t live like that forever.” Maybe she could see the way Matt’s eyebrows drew down, for she added, “It was a different time, child. And I have no regrets. I knew I didn’t want to marry, so taking the veil was the best option.”

Matt leaned back against the bench. “You should become a nun because you want to, not because it’s the best option.”

“Oh, I did,” Sister Bernadette assured him. “Still do. It lets me serve God and, now, the fine people of Hell’s Kitchen.”

Matt shrugged, unconvinced. “Being an archaeologist would have been cooler.”

“Be that as it may, and when I was your age that was what I wanted to be. But sometimes your life takes a different path than you would have imagined when you were nine years old. Perhaps you can relate to that?”

“Yeah,” Matt agreed, his hands gripping his cane.

Sister Bernadette reached over and patted his hand. “I know you have been challenged lately. And then Maggie mentioned an incident at the school, a fight with another boy?”

“Yeah,” Matt repeated. He knew he probably shouldn’t smile when he thought about the fight, but he still did. Just a little bit.

“Matthew, you know you shouldn’t fight.” Her voice was gentle, but still held an element of sternness. “That’s not what your father wanted, and that’s not who God called you to be.”

Now, Matt agreed with her first point; his dad absolutely wouldn’t have wanted him to fight. But that second point? “How do you know? Did He tell you? God, I mean.” He wasn’t sure what answer he wanted to hear. The thought that God had spoken to Sister Bernadette about him sent a chill through him.

“Not in so many words,” Sister Bernadette replied, and Matt relaxed. “But you’re meant to do better than that.”

Matt agreed. He could get better at fighting. Somehow. Maybe one of his dad’s boxing friends would train him. But maybe not. Like Sister Bernadette, they knew what his dad had wanted for Matt’s life. “I’ll try,” he said, and Sister Bernadette hummed her approval. “Sister? Do you ever wish you could have been an archaeologist?”

“Oh, sometimes,” Sister Bernadette said, her voice thoughtful. “But I’m content with my life. Though,” she confided, “I do still like coming here and thinking about what could have been.”

“I like it here, too,” Matt said, realizing it was true. “Thanks for showing me this stuff, Sister.”

Sister Bernadette made a soft, pleased noise and Matt imagined what her smile must look like. “You’re very welcome, Matthew. I’ll let you know the next time I come visit, if you’d like to come along.”

Matt nodded, then lifted his head to listen; the increasing volume of the noise suggested that the other kids were coming back. Matt felt a fleeting moment of sympathy for Sister Maggie, stuck with them on her own. But then he remembered all the chores he’d been doing lately and didn’t feel so bad.

Matt and Sister Bernadette joined the others and, after various thank-yous, they made their way outside.

“Did you really get stuck with Sister Bernadette that whole time, Murdock?” Joey asked, his voice touched with laughter.

“Leave her alone,” Matt protested.

There was a short intake of breath from Joey and Matt imagined his surprise. Sister Bernadette was a fairly common butt of the kids’ jokes, though Matt was feeling kind of bad about that. He knew how much it sucked to get picked on, after all, and Sister Bernadette was nice - and more interesting than Matt ever would have thought.

“Why should I?” Joey asked. “What, is she your girlfriend, Murdock? She’s so old, I’m surprised they even had nuns back then.”

That was all it took for Matt to launch himself at Joey, who was caught off-guard and was bowled over. Then it was all a flurry of fists and elbows and rolling around on the sidewalk until Sister Maggie hauled them away from each other. Matt took a moment to be impressed by her strength before bowing his head at the force of her lecture. He wasn’t sure how long she yelled at him and Joey - the other kids had fled to the safety of the bus - but it felt like forever.

Matt was pretty sure there were more chores in his future, and more Hail Marys, too.

When he finally got on the bus, Richie was a coil of excited energy. “You kicked his ass,” he whispered in Matt’s ear. “Your nose is bleeding, but he looks way worse.”

Matt didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t help but smile a little as he sat back in his seat.

* * *

That evening, Matt scrubbed the bathrooms, his nose burning a little with the scent of the cleaners, his hands aching as the stuff got onto his grazed knuckles.

He’d read the phrase _gimlet eye_ in some book and while he wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, he was pretty sure Sister Maggie had one. He couldn’t see it, but he could _feel_ the way she looked at him whenever she passed a bathroom to check on him.

“Maybe I should have kept you from the museum after all,” she said, and Matt didn’t like the way her voice sounded: tired and sad.

“I really liked it,” he ventured. “Sister Bernadette was great. Did you know she was almost an archaeologist?”

Sister Maggie sighed. “I did. Her path in life changed when she found the Church. But, Matthew, I’m worried about _your_ path.”

“I’m fine,” Matt said promptly, and Sister Maggie clicked her tongue in a way that suggested _she_ didn’t think he was fine. Thinking fast, he asked, “Were _you_ almost an archaeologist?”

“No.”

Well, that wasn’t promising, as distractions went. “What were you, almost?” Sister Maggie made a sound as if she didn’t quite understand what he was asking, and Matt persisted, “Instead of a nun. Did you almost do something else?”

Why that should make her exhale softly, almost like she was in pain, Matt didn’t know. But it took the focus off him, so that was good. “I…” Sister Maggie began, and Matt waited, scrub rag poised over the sink.

Maybe she saw that he’d stopped working or maybe she just didn’t want to tell whatever it was she had been. Either way, she said, “Get back to work,” her voice full of edges. Matt sighed and nodded and resumed scrubbing.

* * *

Next time he went to confession, he told Father Lantom about the fight. He figured Father already knew because there wasn’t that much of a sigh from the other side of the screen.

Matt added. “I’m glad I hit him. He was being mean about Sister Bernadette.”

Okay, there was the sigh. “Repentance is important, and Sister Bernadette can look after herself. Do you think the boy you hit said anything she hasn’t already heard?”

“Well, no. But that doesn’t make it okay.”

“True. And he’ll confess his sin and receive penance, just as you are doing.”

“I just think it’s cool that Sister Bernadette was almost an archaeologist.”

Another sigh. “Yes, but -”

“And Sister Maggie wouldn’t tell me what _she_ almost was, just not an archaeologist.”

This time, the silence from the other side of the screen lasted a while. “You asked her that, did you?” Matt hummed an affirmative, and Father Lantom said, “Well, maybe she’ll tell you someday. Now is there anything else you have to tell me?” Matt drew in a breath to answer, but Father Lantom amended, “More sins to confess?”

“No, Father.”

“Thank Heaven for small mercies.”

Father Lantom doled out the penance. It was more than Matt had been given for the previous fight which Matt thought was kind of unfair, considering that he had been defending Sister Bernadette’s honor.

Perhaps hearing Matt’s sigh, he asked, “Was that an objection?” Matt replied with a vague negative, and Father Lantom said, after a moment, “You do know this isn’t about the penance, right?”

“Really? Then why did you just give me so much?”

“Do you love God?”

That seemed like kind of a loaded question, especially in a confessional, so of course, Matt said, “Yes.”

“And you want to please Him?”

“Why else would I say all those Hail Marys?”

Father Lantom sounded like he was trying hard to get Matt to see his point, but maybe losing patience. “I’d like you to read Saint Thomas of Aquinas. He said - approximately - that it’s not the penance that is pleasing to God, but rather the submission to His will.”

The thought of a big book about religion appealed to Matt, actually. Submission to God’s will - well, to anybody’s will, really - was more of a challenge. But Matt saw the wisdom of not arguing for once and so said, “Yes, Father,” and slipped out of the confessional.

Maybe Father Lantom was trying to generate some repentance, but there was no chance of that. Matt was glad he’d fought. But he sighed as he knelt in the church and began his Hail Marys. At least he was getting closer to the record.


End file.
